The Naked Ritual 

The naked ritual,

I undid my hems

And that’s what I did to my close minded outlook 

I soaked my feet in brine

And that’s what I did to soothe my aching worries 

I inhaled, I exhaled, morning and night

And that’s how I welcomed life and and the unexpected 

And by the time I lay to sleep 

I was aware of myself, naked to the core

My naked self raising the question, 

“What relationship have you, with yourself?”

The Back of Love 

Rose coloured glasses

A lover inducing fever

Butterflies, dying everyday

All these, I encountered at the back of love

Clay, remolded at every chance

Anticipation, a string necklace ripped off

Pulling oceans from beyond the horizon

All these, I encountered at the back of love

The back of love

Obstacle ridden

Buoys one day, land mines on another

All that I’ve known, is the back of love

No Lost Sheep

And they come,

With intentions of opening me

But I won’t be opened 

And that intrigues them

And they are perplexed 

Having preyed on sheep

Who naively roamed their meadows 

Bleating, “Open me! Open me!”

Now the ‘shepherd’ is confused 

About this one sheep 

Fur, his rod toucheth not, but tough skin 

And he heareth no bleat but his pangs of frustration.

Bowen.E

SHE LIKES SCARS

She likes scars

They’re like broken pieces of a vase

Past times, when she, ever so pliable

Have forged a spirit of endurance.

 

She likes scars

She knows them, in and out

A broken vase, she has pieced

A habit formed, shrouded in her bosom

 

She likes scars

They broke her, and taught her

And she has learnt, evolved

Master spinner of love webs

 

She likes scars

And she likes you

In reverse, the end begins

And soon you’ll be in ruins

 

She likes scars

See, as she builds up your excitement

Spurred on, piecing the vase that is your hope,

Delightful, the wait, the future promising

 

She likes scars

She wears them well

Here you find out the hard way,

As she shatters your hope

 

Do you like scars, the way she does?

Do you now perceive the ugly truth?

That, she that breaks the vase,

Was once the one with a broken vase?

 

 

Loud In Love

He does this thing

That sets my pulse racing

I’m a rocket, launched up high

To a world of my own.

 

And when he talks

My mind is too loud

My eyes want to be plucked out

And my face is a red tomato.

 

I put myself together

With such concerted effort

But no matter what

This mind will not be quietened.

 

In seconds he has me undone

Behind my fragile smile,

I’m praying he hasn’t seen me fret

Because I’m a mess inside.

 

And should he hold my hand

God only knows,

That whatever is left binding my composure

Would be weakened.